They walked away from the blaze without looking back.
Not out of callousness, nor pride—but because neither Nyxia nor Perseus could bear to see what the fire was doing to the bodies. The bound figures didn't scream. They didn't writhe. They simply watched.
Even as the flames began to curl up their skin and catch in their hollow hair, those unblinking eyes stayed fixed on the pair moving through the haze.
Nyxia could feel them—those burning sockets locked on her back. Not pleading. Not accusing.
Just… watching.
The stench was worse than death. Flesh and oil. Alchemical rot and Hollow-bloom resin. The smoke wasn't black, but a sickly violet that shimmered in the corners of their vision like it was trying to crawl into their skulls. It smelled of broken promises and half-finished prayers. Of what came after hope died but before pain ended.
Perseus walked beside her, jaw clenched, saying nothing.
Even Loque didn't growl.
When they reached the arterial causeway leading back toward Boo's den, the city itself seemed quieter. As if Serath'Kai had taken a breath and was waiting to see what would come next.
They descended the last coil of the iron spiral leading to Boo's sanctuary.
The guards outside didn't stop them.
They knew better now.
Inside, the scent of bloodwine and smoldering incense tried to mask the city's stench—but it couldn't. Not entirely. Not from them.
Boo was waiting.
She stood this time—half-draped in a sheer robe of burnt silk, her skin gleaming with candlelight and the faint shimmer of protective runes etched into her collarbones. One leg crossed behind the other, graceful and deliberate. Her expression was unreadable.
"Tell me you didn't bring me another headache," she said quietly.
Perseus dropped the scorched data shard onto her table.
"We found the smugglers," he said. "And what they were really moving."
Nyxia stepped beside him, her armor still faintly humming. "We burned it."
Boo looked between them. Then at Loque, who sat down and exhaled with a sound that carried more grief than relief.
"I had it examined," Boo said, walking slowly to the back wall where a glowing projection hovered above a chalk-marked array. "Your earlier prize—the shard? It was part of a larger ritual array. Something old. Not just Void."
Perseus frowned. "Older than the Hollow?"
Boo turned.
"Older than the Void," she said.
She tapped the rune.
The image above them expanded—outlining a fractal of energy paths, growing out like roots and teeth and spirals. "The Vault isn't a tomb," she continued. "It's a cradle. A birthing ground. And what it's meant to release…" She let the sentence hang in the air like smoke.
Nyxia's hand curled into a fist.
"Ves'Sariel," she said.
Boo's smile didn't reach her eyes. "She's just the midwife."
They stood in silence for a moment. The flicker of runes painted shadows across their faces. Then Boo turned, sharp and sudden, striding to her desk.
"I've begun assembling my own team," she said, voice crisp now. "You're not going into that place alone. Not if what's down there is what I think it is."
She snapped her fingers.
A thin, masked figure stepped from the curtain—a knife dancer, all muscle and coiled grace. Behind him, a robed priestess with eyes clouded by milky toxin-fumes bowed once. And last, a man in technomage robes, fingertips sparking faintly with data-scribed light, stepped into view and inclined his head.
"My crew," Boo said. "Talon, Mirell, and Cipher."
Perseus looked them over. "Mercenaries?"
"Survivors," Boo corrected. "Each of them lost something when Ves'Sariel betrayed this city."
Nyxia tilted her head. "And you?"
Boo met her gaze—unflinching, eyes dark as cracked garnet.
"I lost someone I didn't get to kill myself."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then she turned back to the projection and expanded it again.
"Rest tonight," she said. "We move before dawn. The Vault's shadows are growing long—and we need to get ahead of whatever Ves'Sariel's birthing in the dark."
Nyxia stepped closer to the map.
Her armor didn't whisper this time.
It growled.
The briefing chamber emptied in silence.
Talon vanished back into the curtains like smoke, the priestess Mirell lingered just long enough to murmur a prayer in a tongue too old to name, and Cipher gave Nyxia a quiet nod before slipping into the hum of Boo's sanctuary, trailing the scent of copper and ozone.
The map projection blinked once—then faded.
Boo lingered only a moment longer before turning away, her expression unreadable. "Rest. While the city still lets you."
The door to their suite shut with a soft click.
And the silence that followed felt… tight.
Nyxia didn't speak as she peeled the remnants of dried ichor from her gauntlet. The armor still vibrated faintly with whatever curse or craft lingered in its threads, but it had gone quiet for now. Dormant. Waiting.
Perseus set his hammer aside with a grunt. "You believe her?"
Nyxia glanced at the door Boo had disappeared through. "I believe she hates Ves enough to mean it. That might be the closest thing to truth we get down here."
The false-lanterns dimmed into amber above them, signaling the cycle of night. Outside the chamber's reinforced window, the Serath'Kai skyline flickered in fits—half light, half shadow.
They didn't speak again as they climbed into their separate corners of the divan. Nyxia faced the wall, legs curled beneath her, hands under her head. Perseus leaned back in the corner, arms crossed, eyes half-closed—but not asleep.
Loque, ever watchful, prowled a slow circle by the door before settling like a halo of frostlight.
Eventually, the quiet became a cradle.
Eventually, the dark became too thick to notice.
And that's when it began.
Not in shadow.
But in memory.
A hush of moonlight. A scent of wildflowers. A voice like it had once been—soft and unsure. She reached out, fingers brushing his jaw, and when Perseus opened his eyes...
It was her.
Not Nyxia.
Ves'Sariel.
Smiling.